


you're my national anthem

by girl0nfire



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Birthday Sex, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, M/M, Outdoor Sex, Prompt Fill, Secret Relationship, bucky barnes is a terrible person, power dynamics if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-05
Updated: 2013-07-05
Packaged: 2017-12-17 17:59:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/870348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girl0nfire/pseuds/girl0nfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three times Bucky insisted that Steve celebrate his birthday... and helped.  A lot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you're my national anthem

**Author's Note:**

> [prompt fill](http://stevebucky-fest.dreamwidth.org/307.html?thread=217395) for [stevebucky fest](http://stevebucky-fest.dreamwidth.org) on dreamwidth: 
> 
> "All the inappropriate ways Bucky has screwed/groped/blown/made out with Steve during 4th July celebrations, because it's Steve's birthday, he's just trying to help him celebrate it. Parades, floats, speeches, fireworks displays: all of these are opportunities for Bucky to defile a national icon. 
> 
> Bonus: the national icon protests, but is seriously turned on by all this."
> 
> uh, hell yes. happy fourth everybody!
> 
> (awful title is awful, I'm sorry)

The boardwalk’s crowded, and Bucky’s not sure what he was expecting, even though it’s nearly nine and still not quite dark, the heavy July heat hanging sticky in the air and making everything sort of hazy. Steve’s already unbuttoned the first two buttons of his shirt, pushed the sleeves up all the way past his elbows and if Bucky slows just a bit, walking a half-pace behind to get a better look at the way the thin cotton sticks to Steve’s back, watching the way his hair’s getting darker with sweat at the base of his neck, sue him.

Steve stops, his head darting around, and the sharp wings of his shoulder blades stand out beneath the fabric when he looks over his shoulder, giving Bucky that little half-smile that destroys him before he says, “What’re you looking at?”

And it’s Bucky’s turn to let his gaze swing wide, taking in the press of people filling the boardwalk, jockeying for positions by the rails to watch the fireworks, and it’s the whole reason they’re here but Bucky doesn’t really care anymore, he’s looking for – _there_.

A little way up there’s an alley, little more than an alcove between shops but it’ll do, and with another quick look around Bucky’s seizing Steve’s wrist, pulling him along and backing him in, eyes out for anyone who’ll see them disappearing into the small, shadowed space. The sun’s almost set, twilight finally painting the sky in purples and blues and it means there’s just enough darkness to – Steve protests when his back hits the bricks, Bucky’s hands gripping at his shoulders, but the noise barely hits the air before Bucky’s crushing it back against Steve’s lips.

Bucky kisses him and he’s trying not be frantic about it but then Steve’s noises of surprise turn to whines and there’s nothing else for it, he’s already kissing along Steve’s jaw and dipping his head down to chase a bead of sweat down Steve’s neck with his tongue. Steve’s got his bottom lip caught between his teeth, fingers digging dents into Bucky’s waist through his shirt and – 

“Bucky, come on, we’re gonna –“ Steve’s voice is hoarse already, from the strain or from the heat Bucky can’t tell, and one hand’s pushing at Bucky gently, centered on his chest, but the other’s yanking at the hem of Bucky’s shirt, pulling it untucked, and then Bucky captures his lips again, unsure if the last of his sentence was meant to be _get caught_ or _miss the fireworks_.

Steve bites back another whine when Bucky’s hands leave his shoulders, tracing down the front of shirt, and it’s a near thing but the first explosions of fireworks drown out the curse that slips out of Steve’s mouth when Bucky yanks at his belt, barely bothering to unzip his slacks before slipping his hand inside, wrapping his fingers around Steve’s cock.

The _oohs_ and _ahhs_ of the crowd a few yards away and the echoing sounds of the fireworks make it difficult to hear anything else, so Bucky presses his lips to the salt of Steve’s skin and whispers his _Happy Birthday_ , hoping that Steve’s not too upset about missing the show.

+

Dugan and Morita are bickering over who has to light the fire to cook, and Steve doesn’t really blame them, it’s murderously hot in this miserable forest and frankly, he’s fairly sure all of them are seriously considering just starving before actually adding to the heat.

Jones and Falsworth are spread out on their backs nearby, their shed jackets and shirts spread out beneath them, and Steve’s already pulled off most the uniform, making due in just the pants and one of the SSR-issue t-shirts. Bucky’s poking around his tent, and Steve figures it’s maybe the shade he’s after, not that there really is any in the middle of the day with the sun beating down like it is, but when he calls Steve over Steve doesn’t hesitate, because at least when he moves he can _almost_ pretend there’s a breeze.

He ducks his head inside the flap, looking around for some idea of what Bucky’s on about, but everything seems to be in place, and maybe Bucky’s actually got an idea, it _is_ just a little bit cooler beneath the dark, heavy canvas.

“Yeah, Buck, what’re you –“

But that’s all Steve can get out before Bucky’s seizing him, pulling him through the flap and Steve doesn’t even get a chance to steady himself before Bucky’s dropping like a stone, on his knees in front of Steve and already tugging at his uniform pants, yanking at the straps and working open the button at the waist.

“ _Jesus_ , Bucky –“

Bucky presses his cheek against Steve’s hip, looks up at him and holds a single finger against his lips, smirking.

“Just because we’re stuck in this godforsaken forest doesn’t mean it’s not still the Fourth of July, Steve.”

Steve drops a hand to Bucky’s shoulder, still not used to the way he’s got to concentrate on holding back, making sure he doesn’t leave a bruise, and he can already feel his cock thickening, pressing against the coarse fabric of his pants while Bucky noses along the front, taking his time easing the zipper down. He licks his lips, shoving Steve’s underwear out of the way and freeing his cock, stroking it lazily to hardness while he watches Steve’s face, his eyes glinting in the cool darkness of the tent.

“And _I_ ,” Bucky gestures grandly toward himself, sweeping his free hand down, “am feeling _very_ patriotic.”

And then he’s diving forward, wrapping both hands around Steve’s hips and taking him into his mouth, swallowing him down without any warning. The warm clench of Bucky’s throat around his cock draws a rough groan from Steve, one he doesn’t quiet catch, and he can feel Bucky trying to grin around him.

Bucky pulls off slowly, tracing his tongue along the underside of Steve’s cock and he opens his eyes again, settling back on his heels. He looks entirely too pleased with himself, crooking an eyebrow and bringing a finger to his lips again, laughter in his voice.

“They’ll hear you, Captain.”

Steve has to bite back a retort, stifling another sound as Bucky presses kisses down the length of his cock, shifting to flick his tongue along the head before swallowing him down again and wrapping a hand around the base, bobbing his head in time as he strokes. His eyes fall closed, and Steve tries to watch, tries not to lose himself in the slick slide of Bucky’s tongue against him. He brings his other hand to Bucky’s face, thumb tracing over his cheek, over the last of the scrapes and nearly-healed cuts from Azzano and if he thinks too hard about it he won’t – Bucky twists his wrist, speeding up his pace and it chases away the recollections threatening at the edge of Steve’s mind, the warm heat of Bucky’s mouth distracting, _incredible_ , and Steve’ll never be used to this, never understand why Bucky wants to do this with _him_.

He threads his fingers in Bucky’s hair and it’s like flipping a switch; Bucky stills, weighing Steve’s cock against his tongue, waiting for Steve’s word, prying his eyes open and looking up at him, shifting a little on his knees. Something about the way he looks like this, quiet and patient and so ready to do whatever Steve wants stirs a familiar heat inside Steve’s chest, burning under his skin, and when he rolls his hips the first time, pressing further into Bucky’s mouth, edging into his throat, the muffled sound Bucky makes echoes through his whole body, prickling through his veins.

Steve sets a new pace, and Bucky drops his hands to Steve’s hips, fingertips stroking the skin along the waistband of Steve’s pants as he thrusts into Bucky’s mouth. And Bucky’s working his tongue, hollowing his cheeks every time Steve pushes in and he’s so _good_ , so perfect and Steve’s lost, pulled further and further out with every brush of Bucky’s lips, every trace of his tongue. Steve can feel it coming, lust pooling in his stomach, painting shivers down his spine and when he looks down, meeting Bucky’s eyes, that’s it, the reverent look in Bucky’s eyes pushes him off the edge. It takes everything for Steve not to shout; he bites at his lip, tasting blood as his vision blurs, his hand tightening impossibly at Bucky’s shoulder and Bucky’s there, bringing a hand up to stroke him through it, swallowing and licking him clean, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth after he gently puts Steve back together, zipping him up and re-doing the straps.

Bucky doesn’t get up, but he reaches to peel Steve’s hand from his shoulder with a smirk, pressing a kiss to Steve’s palm and Steve knows there’ll most likely be a perfect set of fingertip bruises inked there later. But Bucky doesn’t seem to mind, tilting his head into Steve’s other hand, nuzzling against it contentedly for a moment, and when Steve offers Bucky a hand up, he takes it, looking a little dazed.

And as soon as Bucky’s on his feet he’s kissing Steve, gripping the front of his t-shirt and pulling him down, licking into his mouth and grinning against Steve’s lips. But he’s pulling away again before Steve can even get his hands on him, dancing just out of Steve’s reach when he tries to reciprocate, slapping at Steve’s hands when they reach for his belt.

Stepping toward the tent flap, Bucky straightens up, giving Steve a solemn salute before he ducks out, a self-satisfied grin on his face.

“Happy Birthday, soldier.”

+

“Can’t they just hire an impersonator?”

Bucky’s watching Steve zip up the uniform, standing in front of the mirror he’d hung on the door of their closet, and while he’d never admit it, the pout’s in full force.

“I mean, come on, _Steve_ , everyone’s going to be drunk anyway, why do they even need the _real_ Captain America there to marshal the parade?”

Steve doesn’t stop, fidgeting with his belt, but he looks up to meet Bucky’s eyes in the mirror, smiling encouragingly at him.

“ _Because_ , Bucky. It’s a PR thing or something. Supposed to be good for business.”

A groan, and Bucky lets himself fall backwards on the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

“You _saving New York’s collective asses_ is good for business. This is just stupid.”

“You don’t have to come,” Steve finally turns around, crossing his arms. “You can stay here.”

Bucky groans again, throws an arm over his face. “And die slowly of heatstroke? Fuck that. At least the car they’re driving you around in is air-conditioned.”

“Well, fair warning, there’s a fundraising dinner afterward. You have to wear a tie.”

And Bucky does. He spends the entirety of the dinner at the Plaza looking at it like it’s personally offended him, but he wears it. Sometime during the beginning of the evening’s speeches – judging by the program, they’re in for a long haul – Bucky gets up from their table, slips out to what only Steve can assume is the bathroom, squeezing his shoulder as he passes. Except Bucky’s gone for the whole first speech; when he still hasn’t made it back midway through the second one, Steve excuses himself to go looking for him, because there’s no _telling_ what kind of trouble Bucky could get up to at an event like this.

Steve finds Bucky out on the deserted balcony of the hotel’s ballroom, leaning against the railing and watching the echoes of the fireworks over the Hudson, barely visible as anything but points of shifting, colored light, silent at this distance. He doesn’t turn, not until Steve sidles up next to him, brushing their shoulders together.

“’S not fair, Steve,” Bucky says without preamble, still watching the lights splashing across the sky. He slides his hand along the railing, resting it on the back of Steve’s. “You didn’t even get to do anything for your birthday.”

Steve huffs out a chuckle, turns his hand over so he can tangle their fingers together, leaning in a little closer to press a kiss to Bucky’s cheek. 

“Don’t worry about me. Had plenty of birthdays.”

Bucky turns to look at him, and there’s something unreadable about his eyes when he takes Steve’s jaw in his other hand – even though it’s camouflaged, Steve likes to pretend he can still feel the cool brush of the metal on his skin – and kisses him, softly. Steve can’t help but sigh, gripping at the lapel of Bucky’s suit jacket, pulling him closer and pressing their chests together, the simple kiss deepening as Bucky gets brave, untangling their fingers and bringing his hand around the back of Steve’s neck, slipping his tongue into Steve’s mouth and running it along the points of his teeth, sliding it against Steve’s, still slow but growing insistent.

And they shouldn’t – Steve should pull away, he should, but Bucky’s running a hand down his side, slipping beneath his jacket and reaching to grip his ass, turning and pressing Steve back against the railing.

Bucky finally breaks away, breathing hard, leaning in to mouth at the corner of Steve’s jaw.

“You know, we should stop,” his breath’s hot against Steve’s skin, and Steve shivers, hands coming to grasp at Bucky’s shoulders. “I’m sure you’re needed inside.”

He nips at the skin just above Steve’s collar, not quite hard enough to mark, and drops a hand to Steve’s belt.

“Tell me, Steve.”

And really, he’s making sense, Steve should just say so, they should go back, but Steve’s body is already betraying him, his hips grinding down against Bucky’s thigh when he slides it between Steve’s legs, brushing his knuckles over Steve’s hardening cock. Steve can’t – there are words, he knows, but what escapes him is half-whine, half-demand and he can feel Bucky grinning against his neck.

“God, don’t –“

Bucky doesn’t seem to care if they’re caught, and frankly, Steve’s starting not to, either, because Bucky’s kissing him again, working down the zipper of his slacks, and everything else falls away, Steve’s entire consciousness sharpening to a point. Everything is too much, not enough – Bucky tastes like the champagne they served at dinner when Steve licks into his mouth, reaching for Bucky’s belt, yanking it open and Bucky gasps into his mouth, a mix of surprise and want.

For a few moments, they simply rock together, Steve grinding against Bucky’s thigh, Bucky’s cock nudging at Steve’s hip where they’re pressed together, and they keep kissing, almost lazily, like they’ve got all the time in the world and they’re not – out here, in the open, an idea that sends a dark sort of thrill through Steve. But if Bucky’s got him, if Bucky’s here, it doesn’t matter – they can deal with the consequences later. It’s not like they’ve never done this before.

Eventually, Bucky fidgets, works Steve’s underwear out of the way to finally grasp his cock, pushing at his own clothing with his other hand before taking them both in the loose circle of his grip and stroking experimentally, drawing a fresh groan from Steve. Bucky releases them, just for a moment, and brings his hand up, licking at the palm before gripping them both again, stroking in earnest this time, and Steve lets his head fall forward onto Bucky’s shoulder, muffling his gasp into the cloth of Bucky’s jacket. His hips jerk up, meeting Bucky’s pace, and Bucky speeds up, the friction between them almost unbearable, rocketing through Steve’s veins, and he can’t help but bring his own hand up, tangling his fingers with Bucky’s and squeezing, drawing a groan from both of them.

They build a rhythm together, and Bucky grits his teeth around Steve’s name when he comes first, spilling over their twined hands, warm and slick and Steve growls, grinding against Bucky and following him after, gripping at his waist with his free hand. 

“Fuck,” Bucky breathes, examining the mess they’ve made of their hands, mercifully sparing their slacks. He considers for a moment before pulling at his tie, unknotting it and yanking it off one-handed, using it to clean them up and wipe off his hand before finally pulling away, putting himself back together and tucking the now-ruined silk in his pocket.

“Hated that thing, anyway."

Steve’s still leaning against the raining, feeling a little spent and dizzy, watching Bucky straighten his suit jacket.

“’M on to you, you know.” 

Bucky looks up, grinning at him, that same look that says he’s so pleased with himself that Steve’s seen a million times before, the one he’ll never get tired of. 

“Yeah?”

“Can’t complain, sometimes you’re the only one who remembers my birthday,” Steve reaches out to brush at Bucky’s shirtfront, a poor excuse to run his hands along his stomach. “To say nothing about the way you seem to always insist on celebrating it.” 

Bucky catches his hand, leans in to press a kiss to his cheek.

“Only took you ninety-five years to sort that out, did it?”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [you're the fireworks flyin' on the fourth of july](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1145540) by [IamShadow21](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IamShadow21/pseuds/IamShadow21)




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